


Encore

by FolkPunkDruid



Category: Dude That's My Ghost!
Genre: Ect0features dont even fucking look at this or i'll stomp you to death with my hooves, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Reincarnation AU, Spencer is aro even though i dont know if itll come up he is, also gender roles stuff ew, also major character death is just bc Spence is a ghost, its mentioned and then shat on and thats the only gender roles stuff i will include in my work, kind of, no ect0feature, oh also Billy is trans and pan fight me, shitty parents, theyre BROTHERS dont @ me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23943961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FolkPunkDruid/pseuds/FolkPunkDruid
Summary: Encorenouna repeated or additional performance of an item at the end of a concert, as called for by an audience.verbcall for a repeated or additional performance of (an item) at the end of a concert.Billy was a performer. Who was he to deny his fans an encore?(Or, Billy gets reincarnated and Spencer is a ghost)
Relationships: Billy Joe Cobra & Spencer Wright
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Encore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jay_valenz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jay_valenz/gifts).



> apparently i must watch everything ghost-related and now i love these two dumb idiots and this stupid damn show. 
> 
> Thank you to my lovely and amazing beta reader Jay for helping me iron out this one! couldnt have done this without you Jay <3 Also 80% of the DTMG tag is ect0feature and the fandom is like 4 people so my greatest motivator, as with all things in life, is spite. if people wont make the content i want to see i'll make it myself >:(

Now he knew how Billy felt the day they met.

Spencer Wright had been having a perfectly normal day. He’d woken up from a nap he’d taken more out of habit than any real need, and begun to-

Well, not do much. There’s not a lot for a ghost to do when there’s no living beings nearby to mess with or anyone to talk to. So usually Spencer went on film forums and gave horror film buffs tips and advice. Sometimes he’d get questioned about how he knew such intimate details about how the industry worked. His profile was… Sparse, to put it mildly.

He figured that helping someone else make a movie would be enough to let him move on. Maybe. 

Spencer had only been dead for a few months. After years working in the industry, he’d finally worked his way up to a directing gig. He spent months working on his pitch, and had finally gotten the go-ahead to make his movie. His dream was coming true.

And then some idiot t-boned his car and the impact near immediately killed him. And just like that, Spencer’s hopes and dreams of becoming a big-name Hollywood director were flushed down the drain. 

He totally wasn’t bitter about it or anything. Definitely not! But maybe finishing his film (or another, he hoped the afterlife wasn’t too picky) would let him move on to… Whatever came after undeath.

Not for the first time since he’d died, his mind wandered back to Billy. His adoptive big brother had passed on over a decade ago, finally figuring out what kept him stuck in the land of the living. Who knew a famous popstar could have so many regrets?

Spencer gave a sigh with nonexistent lungs. It’d been a long time ago, but man, sometimes he missed Billy.

And all his stupid bro jokes.

Anyway, his day had been going perfectly normal, or as normal as it ever was in the Cobra Mansion, when he got a lovely reminder of what he’d written in his will.

When he was alive, he wanted his house to go to charity. Sold off in an auction to the highest bidder, with the profits going directly to help those in need. Surely the mansion designed and used by Billy Joe Cobra would sell for a lot? It was hazy what he wrote in his will, honestly. His memory had had a lot of gaps since he died.

No wonder Billy was so forgetful. 

He heard a young-sounding voice from the foyer, two floors below. “Wow, this place is huge! Echo!” The voice called, reverberating off the walls.

“Great,” He grumbled, knowing perfectly well that his house’s new residents couldn’t hear him. “Sounds like there’s a kid moving in. Hope this one isn’t a spoiled brat like Lolo was.”

~~~~~

“No! Goddamnit, get out of my room!”

This kid, this freakin’ kid, had the absolute GALL to try to move into his and Billy’s old room. If he even dared messing with any of his or Billy’s things...

Spencer growled to himself. No snobby rich kid was going to touch his stuff. It’s all he had left in this damn world.

This damned kid dumped his beaten up backpack in the corner, looking around the room. He grinned, showing off gapped front teeth. “Dang, there’s so much stuff in here!”

Spencer raised an eyebrow at that comment. Hadn’t he specified his house was to go to charity? This kid should be loaded. Why would he be impressed by the amount of stuff in the old room of a popstar and a failed director? 

He took a closer look at the boy, examining his apppearance. He wore scuffed, beaten up old sneakers with cracked aglets and frayed laces and dirty jeans with holes that were clearly from overuse instead of for the aesthetic. Worn flannel with mismatched buttons barely hid a threadbare old band shirt, and his messy hair was clipped into a shoddy undercut, clearly done by an inexperienced hand. 

His scowl softened as he realised this kid was absolutely, definitely NOT rich. No wealthy person worth their salt would dare leave the house looking like their hair was styled by an overenthusiastic five-year-old with a pair of clippers. “How…?” He asked no one in particular.

But while he’d been thinking about that, the kid had made his way over to one of the guitars leaning against the wall and started doing the EXACT opposite of what he wanted.

It was Billy’s favourite red one, the one he’d play whenever he and Spencer were just chilling in their room. Usually Spencer was editing some footage, or looking up how, and Billy would just be playing something from wherever in the room he chose to float.

“Focus, Spencer!” He gently slapped himself in the face. Temporarily shelving the happy memory, he hovered belly-down over the kid’s shoulder, grumpily watching him strum his fingers over the strings in awe. “Wow…”

“Stop! Just. Fucking... stop touching his stuff!” Spencer yelled, pulling at his hair. “God, just-” he cut himself off, grumbling incoherently. He could easily start trying to creep out this kid by haunting him, like Billy had. But how to do it…?

Grinning, the poltergeist flew off towards the door, a plan forming in his mind. Remembering what Billy had told him about interacting with the physical world as a ghost, Spencer focused on his hands. 

“Okaaaayy… Thinkin’ solid thoughts… I’m solid. I can touch the door.”

He shoved the door.

It slammed shut with a bang, startling Spencer’s “guest”. The boy yelped, a hand flying to his chest protectively as he bolted upright. His eyes darted around wildly for a moment before he relaxed, taking deep, slow breaths to calm his breathing. He gave a nervous laugh, like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry or scream in terror. “It’s just the wind, B. Just… The wind. Yeah.”

Spencer frowned. Crap, this kid was easily startled. He wanted to frighten him, not give him a heart attack! And now he felt bad. Damnit.

He sighed. “Well, I guess there’s not gonna be any haunting.” Spencer idly wondered how he’d get away with existing in this house if his new “roommate” was scared of a door slamming.

“Well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” He shrugged. Glancing back at the guitar the kid had been standing by, Spencer smirked as he noticed he’d left alone Billy’s guitar. Good.

But then, where was he? The specter glanced around, spotting him sitting at Spencer’s desk.

Oh, right. Spencer had been looking at the forums. Lucky his monitor had turned itself off. 

He hovered over the boy’s shoulder, watching him check out Spencer’s stuff.

Wait, no. Now he was _touching_ Spencer’s stuff.

“Urgh, why do you have to touch my stuff. You just- God, put my-”

Several things happened in the space of a few seconds.

First, Spencer stopped talking out of surprise when the boy whipped his head around, eyes landing on him. Like he could see him.

Second, he noticed a familiar blue piece of plastic hung on a string around the boy’s neck. Spencer idly wondered if the necklace would even work for him.

Third, the boy started screaming. Well. That answered his question, at least.

“Holy brolony! Dude, you’re a ghost!”

If he still had a heartbeat, Spencer would swear it had just stopped. He only knew one idiot who made bro jokes THAT terrible.

His brow creased in thought. “...Billy?” He asked, almost afraid of the answer. There was no way, the odds of them sharing both a name and the brocabulary... 

“What?”

And there went the tiny sliver of hope he’d been feeling. Of course he was being superstitious. Miracles didn’t happen, and fate wasn’t real. What had he been expecting, anyway? Some kind of sign that Billy still existed in this world in some form? 

Spencer ground his palms into his eyes, grumbling “You’ve been watching too many of those damn horror movies, Spence,” under his nonexistent breath. He sighed, composing himself before narrowing his eyes in a mix of annoyance and frustration at the boy. “What are you doing in my house? Who are you?”

“Y- you’re a ghost.”

“Yes, we’ve established that.”

“Are… Aren’t you gonna try to… I don’t know, attack me?” 

The poor kid looked pretty frightened.

Sighing, Spencer lowered himself closer to a standing position. Might as well try to ease him into the whole “So Your New House is Haunted” thing. “That’s kind of rude. Unlike most media depictions of us, usually ghosts are pretty relaxed. As long as you just leave their stuff alone, y’know? Which reminds me…” He hovered closer to the kid, staring him in the eyes.

“Why. Are you. Touching. My stuff?” He asked through gritted teeth.

The boy yelped, falling backwards off Spencer’s desk chair in fright. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think it’d hurt an-”

Spencer cut him off with an exasperated sigh. “Of course you didn’t.” He turned around to rant at the air, slowly drifting closer to his bed. “No one ever considers ghosts. It was like this when I was alive and it’s like this when I’m dead. What did I expect?” He complained to the furniture.

Silence.

He turned around to his… Guest? Tenant? Roommate? Whatever the kid was to him, he turned to talk to him.

He was cowering under the desk, trying to make himself look small.

Spencer sighed. “Kid, I’m not gonna hurt you. Come on out, it’s okay.”

No response.

Hanging his head back and groaning, Spencer floated off towards his bed. He’d had the old racecar turned into a bunk bed ages back, so Billy could have a proper bed. Not that he needed one, but the gesture was appreciated all the same.

Billy had kept the racecar bed. Spencer’s was the more recently added top bunk. 

The sheets on Billy’s bunk were still messy, left untouched since Billy passed on. A thick layer of dust had settled on them over the years, but Spencer adamantly refused to disturb the blankets. He still wasn’t sure if he did it as a reminder he was gone, or because he was lying to himself that he wasn’t actually gone, and he REALLY didn’t want to think about it.

Hovering over his freshly made bedsheets, Spencer settled down. Guess he had to wait this one out, huh?

How did he end up with such a scaredy-cat moving into his place?

Now that he thought about it, Billy had been scared of ghosts, too. Spencer had teased him about it.

This kid even looked kind of like his adoptive brother. 

Spencer had never really believed in fate, or reincarnation, or any of that new age hippie crap. But now? He thought, maybe some of them were onto something. 

Didn’t make them right for trying to sell snake oil, though.

As he waited for the kid to come out, Spencer hummed a familiar tune. It’d been stuck in his head since he woke up, but he couldn’t quite place the words.

He could SWEAR it was one of Billy’s, too.

“... You love me girl, I love me more,” came a soft voice from under Spencer’s desk, singing along to the melody.

That’s right! Man, Billy would have been thrilled that this stranger remembered his song just by the tune of it. “You know Billy Joe Cobra?”

The kid had crawled out from under the desk. “Not really.”

Spencer winced. If Billy had been there, he would have given that poor kid an earful.

“That’s one of his songs! He was popular when I was a kid,” the ghost gave a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, why do you think I don’t really know him? You’re, like, fifty!”

“Ouch. I’m thirty-six, kid.”

The boy visibly held back a flinch.

Spencer’s expression softened. _‘Damn, this kid is really timid, huh?’_ Deciding to try calming down the boy, he asked “How do you know that song, if you didn’t hear it from The Cobra?”

“Oh! Jonah Tyler Taylor sings it!”

Now there was a name Spencer hadn’t heard in a while. Billy had been an avid fan, following his progress into stardom up until the ghost moved on, and Spencer had never really continued that tradition. 

“Oh yeah, I remember now. What’s he up to nowadays?”

“Well, after his band Soft Nonthreatening Boys split up, he’s started working as an independent artist! A couple of other SNB fans don’t like some of his new stuff because it’s not the same boy band stuff, but I think it sounds awesome! Wanna listen to some of his stuff? He released a new album a few months ago, it’s called “Six Weeks” and it slaps!”

Spencer blinked in surprise. And here he was thinking this kid wasn’t all that chatty.

“Oh. Uh, I mean, I don’t know. He’s lame and, uh, for girls. Which I’m not.” He looked at the ground anxiously, cheeks reddening.

The ghost’s brow furrowed. Jeez, that was a quick switch. What happened to this kid to make him so nervous to let others know he liked unconventional things? “Hey, it’s okay little dude, I’m not gonna judge you for liking boy bands. It’s fine for guys to like stuff that’s typically for girls. Heck, my brother loved wearing pink, and makeup, and skirts, and he was a huge fan of JTT, too. If anyone’s gonna judge you for that, the last person it’ll be is me.”

Spencer could swear the boy’s long-lashed eyes were sparkling when he looked back at him. 

“Really? You… You don’t think I’m ‘less of a man’ or anything?”

“What?!” Spencer yelled, outraged. “Who the fu- _heck_ told you that?”

The boy cowered slightly, but a lot less than before. “... My dad.”

He could swear he could see red. Spencer did NOT want that man in his house, let along feeding this kid poison. “Oh, I am going to make his life here a living hell,” Spencer growled. “I’m gonna haunt his a-”

“No!” The kid threw his arms out, seemingly panicked. “That’s Mr. Moore. He’s… He’s nice, I guess…” The boy rubbed his arm. “He’s my foster dad.”

“Oh.”

The room was filled with awkward silence for a moment.

“So, music?” 

“Oh! Yeah! Hold on, let me just-” He pulled an older phone out of his pocket, fumbling for a moment before some upbeat, kind of bland pop music blared from the tiny speakers.

Personally, Spencer had never understood why people liked pop. Soon enough, the song was over.

“Well?”

“Uh… Not bad!” Spencer said. It wasn’t really a lie, he hadn’t hated it. He just didn’t really enjoy it that much. But the look on the kid’s face was worth it.

He could SWEAR the boy squealed with excitement. “Oh man! Are we friends now?”

Spencer chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, sure, kid. Why not? You seem fun. I’m Spencer,” he offered, holding a hand out for a handshake.

The boy grinned, excitedly taking his ghostly hand and shaking enthusiastically. “I”m Baruch!”

Baruch.

Suddenly, Spencer remembered something he hadn’t thought about in years. He could almost hear Billy’s voice ringing in his ear.

_‘Your real name is Baruch Cohen?’_

_‘It’s Bah-roukh!’_

“B-Baruch?” He repeated.

The kid- Baruch, beamed. “Yeah! Most people mess up the pronunciation, though. You’re really good at that! Do you speak Yiddish?”

Spencer shook his head numbly. Baruch.

God, the kid even looked and talked and sounded kind of like him, now that Spencer thought about it. He had the same nose, the same face shape, the same bright eyes…

The gapped teeth and freckles were new, though.

He’d never believed in fate, or reincarnation. There was no way this could be real. But at the same time, the evidence so far was stacking up.

Maybe it was just a crazy coincidence, though. Right? There’s no way his brother could have been reincarnated, and even if reincarnation was real what were the odds they would cross paths?

Spencer idly realised, in his daze, that Baruch had finished talking and was now staring at him, concerned.

“You okay, broltergeist?”

Fuck.

Yeah, no one else could make bro puns THAT terrible. 

“Yeah, I’m.. I’m okay,” he responded, somewhat shakily. “Weird question, but what’s your opinion on peanut butter?”

“Dude, I LOVE peanut butter! But only the smooth stuff, the chunky stuff is gross. It’s the gloop of the gods!”

God DAMN it.

Silently, Spencer prayed for strength.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks spite, for the motivation to write!
> 
> im workin on chapter 2 rn but i write whenever i feel like and usually while i have a hyperfixation on it so while i DO wanna finish and im gonna try to dont get your hopes up maybe? comments help motivate me


End file.
